


Curse

by Dainslaif



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Ebil Peter, M/M, Priest Killian, Principal Killian, Vague, kiss, light oral
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dainslaif/pseuds/Dainslaif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reverend Killian Jones is the new principal of Storybrooke's premier Catholic Academy. Many hold high hopes for the younger fresh faced Reverend, but he is not so sure of himself. Enter in Peter Malcolm, the only boy devious enough to prey on the worries of an innocent man of the cloth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

“Stop it Peter, let go of my hair!”

There was Wendy Darling’s voice one again, undoubtedly in an attempt to fend off the unwanted advances of one Peter Malcolm once again; the boy was nothing but trouble. Closing his Bible with a snap the Reverend moves up to his feet with a sigh, tugging at his collar as he walks and scanning the rolling emerald green grounds which stood between the astute shadows of two neo-gothic building of dark stone. To the east stood the smaller building, the church where mass was held and after classes many of the younger students would stay to wait for parents to come. To the west stood the proud academy, the gem of the sleepy town of Storybrooke, Shining Star Academy. 

A Catholic secondary school to which the young Reverend Killian Jones had as off the start of the school year been placed in charge of; the dearly departed former head of the school had been Liam Jones, Killian’s older brother. He had made peace with his brother’s death, entrusting his soul completely to God—Liam had been a good man. His worry lay with how he could possibly run a school. He had Mother Superior to help at least, the woman young but so very wise and, well, motherly; however something inside him continued to unnerve him deep in his heart.

It had boiled down to, in his mind, what if he really screwed up? Most of the children respected his new-found authority, but there were still some, some like the trouble student Peter Malcolm whom many had taken to calling Peter Pan thanks to his propensity to play a pan flute during the free time. The tunes he would often play were sad, sad to the point where Killian had asked him about it once. Once being operative word. He remembers, far from fondly, that the boy all but laughed in his face, grabbed his bag, and left Killian to stand there in the quad like a buffoon.

Peter was always surrounded by boys from his class, particularly a very tall boy by the name of Felix, but he always seemed so alone. Killian felt rather bad for never learning his last name but he was generally a good kid, rather quiet. Only time he ever caused trouble was at Peter’s behest. Finally spotting said trouble maker hanging upside down from a low branch of an oak tree, Wendy Darling sitting on a concrete bench just below it and Peter tugging on her long golden hair while laughing only makes Killian sigh. 

And that loneliness tended to breed a malevolent mischief. Making his way towards the two he’s quick to give Peter a hard look, the boy bending backwards until he saw the reverend and his grin only widening as he releases Wendy’s hair. “Peter, come down from the tree, now,” he’s careful to annunciate as Mother Superior had told him to do when dealing with Peter but it hardly seems to faze him.

The perceptive lad that he was he was quick to pick up on the ebbing command. He may have let Wendy’s hair go, the girl now dodging behind Killian and clutching her schoolbooks tightly to her sweater-covered chest, but he still continues to sway in the tree. Killian was almost worries he may fall and wouldn’t be able to catch him in time. “Well hello there Reverend,” he drawls as he sways, ruby red blazer beginning to scrunch up and crisp white collar shirt underneath beginning to untuck. “Is there a problem?”

Killian stands in awe for a moment before pointing to Wendy behind him. “You were tugging Miss Darling’s hair—again. You should apologise.” Peter was seventeen for pity’s sake, and in his final year of secondary school. He surely should have grown out of the hair tugging phase by now.

Peter snorts and curls upwards to grab the branch and right himself before jumping down onto the soft earth, pulling down his blazer. “I’m sorry I tugged on your hair Wendy,” he gives her a sort of half bow; the fifteen year old girl gave a brief nod before she ran off. Killian didn’t have the speed to stop her and again thoughts of potential failure plague him. At least alone with Peter he had the time to get some one-on-one with him, perhaps chip away some of the wall.

Alone and with Peter upright it was easier to see that the boy’s blazer was tighter than regulation allowed, grey slacks also a bit tight held up by a studded belt certainly not regulation, and there was a twig jutting out from his blonde curls from the back of his head. With a soft snort he reaches behind Peter to pluck the twig from his hair and toss it to the ground. He certainly was a handsome lad, if a little rough around the edges.

“Peter have you given anymore thought to university? I know last we spoke you were talking about majoring in political science.” He gestures his hand outward towards the school, prompting politely for Peter to follow him. The boy rolls his sky blue eyes before picked up his bag and slugging it over his shoulder, taking Killian’s prompting to walk.

“I’m so pleased you remember, Reverend,” Peter mutters quietly, keeping his head held high and his eyes off of Killian as he spoke. “Normally adults don’t remember a word I say, just my actions.” There was a flash of a smirk that Killian attempts to ignore.

“Of course I remember what you say, Peter.” Killian thumbs his Bible with a contemplative look. “You seem the type of lad who needs an ear from time to time. My office is always open…”

Peter waves his hand nonchalantly. “I know, you’ve told me before. I’ll check my schedule, you check yours… we’ll do lunch,” he finally looks up towards Killian, eyes shining in such a way that makes the reverend’s skin crawl. “Sound good?”

Killian opens his mouth to speak, his mind completely blank. Before he could muster up any words they could hear the bell chime, signalling the start of the next round of classes. 

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” the boy’s hand drifts across Killian’s shoulder a moment, down his arm in a slow move and the reverend sees his breath stall in his throat. “See you around, Rev.”

As Peter moves past Killian towards the double doors Killian moves to rest his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Allow me to walk you. If you’re late, I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble on my account.”

He shrugs and opens the door. “Trouble? Hardly know the meaning of the word.”

Killian should have known that his day was far from over; before the end of the school day Peter had been in and out of his office three times. Once for tardiness and two were dress code violations that the reverend hardly had the heart to fix, he had no idea where to start with it at any rate. He had offered the boy a larger blazer to which Peter shrugged and propped his feet up on Killian’s desk, and then the belt he simply wouldn’t budge on and after a sly comment from the boy he didn’t dare ask him to remove it again.

Several other students had been in and out of his office all day, minor infractions, but none were such repeat offenders as Peter always proved to be. By lunch he had hoped that the office visits would stop.

As always his lunch was a modest one of an apple and bottled water, the thought of something more substantial never once having crossed his mind as he did much prefer to read during his break rather than actually eat. The gentle rap at his door stirs him from his own world, half eaten apple abandoned in his trashcan and unopened water bottle just in arm’s reach. “Yes, come in,” he calls, quickly scanning a few lines more from his tale before placing it away.

He nearly groans to see Peter’s head poke from around the door, a mad grin on his lips. “What have you done now?” he accidentally lets slip as the boy moves into the room, closing the door behind him and tossing his backpack onto the chair across from Reverend Jones’s desk.

“I asked Ms Blanchard about your lunch plans for today. She said you had no plans. I had no plans,” his smile never wavers and it left the reverend a disquiet mess. “I figured we could do lunch.”

Still, he was not about to send the boy away. If he was coming in and talking of his own accord it was Killian’s moral duty to nurture it, coax him from his lonely shell. “Lunch would be fine. Make yourself comfortable.” He shifts in his chair, looking down at the book in his hands. “Is there anything you wish to talk about?”

Peter had taken to drifting about the office, the walls decorated with little more than bookshelves covered with books and various knick-knacks of religious reference with the occasional nautical theme. Drifting his fingers lazily over the leather bound books he half glances back towards the reverend. “You haven’t changed it much, have you? Added a few new books, took out the statuette of the Virgin Mary,” he pauses to look around. “It’s cosier now.”

“I am very glad you think so,” Killian replies, a look of confusion crossing him a moment at how eager he sounds. “It has a nice view of the grounds, though I’m sure you already knew that. You do come in here often enough.”

Simply nodding Peter wanders back to his backpack, unzipping it to pull out a sandwich bag filled with potato crisps. “It is a nice view. You have a wonderful view of the football field.” He sits on the desk, putting a crisp into his mouth with a loud crunch.

Killian pulls at his collar, breathing deeply to calm his erratic nerves and completely unsure as to why and when he had become so nervous. “Yes, it’s a nice field. Usually at this hour you’re down there playing your pan flute.”

Peter raises his brow, hiding his smile and biting on another crisp. “Oh, so you watch me during my lunch hour? I’m blushing.”

It took the reverend a few moments to realise just how that could have been taken and he’s quick to clear his throat and add in a quiet voice, “When there is a crowd of students surrounding one person it is a little hard to remain unnoticed, Peter. I simply observe nothing more.”

“I hardly believe that,” Peter drops his baggie and crawls over the table, his body dripping in a sultry language far too mature for a seventeen year old boy to know. His finger hooks on the collar of Killian’s shirt, tugging at him. The reverend himself was in a flurry of emotion, unsure of how to stop the actions. “You scan the fields looking for me; you always have your eyes on me.” Their lips hover against one another, each sharing the same breath. 

As Killian opens his mouth to speak their lips touch in a kiss. The reverend’s mind snaps to silence and all he could hear what his heart beating erratically in his chest. His eyes wide open he could see that Peter was far from uncomfortable, eyes close and every muscle in his face relaxing save the pucker of his lips. When he pulls away the familiar smirk returns and all Killian could do was breathe.

“Thanks for lunch, rev.” He winks before he hops off the desk, grabbing his backpack and swiping up Killian’s bottle of water. “I’ll be taking this. All those salty crisps.” 

Mind set ablaze, reeling with what had just happened after the door clicked to a close… Killian’s breath becomes rapid and his touches his lip with the tips of his forefinger, finding it was still tingling, his body beginning to ache.

An ache he hadn’t felt in a long time. Turning his desk chair to face the window he had half expected to see a gaggle of students staring up, wide-eyed and in shock. Of course there was nothing, no one could see in even if they knew to look. Licking his lips he leans back in an attempt to calm his nerves, his body still hot and awkward.

He could control it, he had been able to for so long. He could control himself, his thoughts… Just before he closes his eyes he catches the familiar sight of Peter’s too tight clothes, walking down the breezeway between the buildings, heading towards the football field. “Oh God,” Killian curses, leaning his head back and purposefully resting his hands on the arms of his chair, gripping the leather in a vice grip.

He held out until the devious young boy turned back to look up towards the window. Killian could sparsely understand how the boy could know where exactly to look, but there he was his eyes even from so far staring into his soul. Closing his eyes he sighs, his body shaking.

Trying not to think he falls into what felt like the most natural of all things to do, his own touch like a poisonous pleasure against his foreign skin. The affair was quiet and thankfully over quickly. It felt strange to allow him a pleasure he had long since denied himself, and it felt wrong, so very wrong, by all the thoughts and dreams which poured into his head as he eased himself into a rhythm, untrained hand unsure but so willing to learn.

Invoking his God’s name several more times, counting each time and marking it as another sin amongst the growing tally as stemming from the boy with the blond hair and eyes like a storm…. Those eyes…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. Get it? Eh? Eh?

“Ah, there you are, Reverend.”

 

Killian nearly jumps, leather bound Bible falling from his lap loudly onto the oak floor and echoing throughout the silent Cathedral to the point both the Reverend and Mother Superior both jump and the older woman rests her warm hand upon Killian’s shoulder.

 

“Oh my dear I didn’t mean to startle you!”

 

Killian waves her off with and awkward laugh. “I was simply praying, Mother Superior!” he tries to assure, the ever discerning woman not looking completely fooled. “Praying for my brother’s guidance,” he adds solemnly—though it was only half true.

 

Guilt was written all over his face, it had to be. He kissed a young boy, a _student_. Then he _defiled_ himself! He could still feel the tingle on his lips and in his nether region…

 

Mother Superior’s concerned expression softens to something more along the lines of quiet understanding. “Oh Killian. Liam is beside you always. He is guiding you gently, and now you must take the leap of faith and trust in yourself to make decisions.”

 

Killian swallows thickly then licks his dry lips. “I know Mother Superior. I just-I have so many doubts about being able to do this job, handle these kids… Peter Malcolm…”

 

“I know, child. We always have doubts, and Peter Malcolm has always been an… eccentric child. You have to put your foot down with him. But you would not have been placed into this position if Liam hadn’t thought you could do it. Trust in God, and trust in yourself.”

 

At the risk of exposing himself he instead decides to switch subjects, straightening up from his bowed position and clearing his throat. “Was there a reason you needed me, Mother Superior?”

 

She beams, taking his abrupt switch as a renewed confidence; deep down Killian feels awful for lying to her, straight to her face no less, but it was just another sin he would need to recount later.

 

“I wanted to remind you of tomorrow’s service. On the importance of abstinence before marriage? The parents were hoping you could give a small sermon to the upper classmen, especially given their end-of-year dance coming up. Understandably some parents are skittish about allowing their children to come after last year’s pregnancy scare.”

 

Just what Killian needed to hear; needing to give a sermon about abstaining when he has thoughts of a young boy swirling in his mind? God was punishing him for allowing Peter to kiss him. And for enjoying it. And for touching himself.

 

“Of course, Mother. Will that be all?”

 

“I will let you get back to your prayers.” The older woman chuckles and bends over to pick up the well-worn Bible, placing it back onto Killian’s lap. “And thank you for your time, Reverend.”

 

Killian bids her farewell and watches as she leaves, the heavy doors closing behind her and he sighs heavily, sinking against the pew and looking up towards the macabre stained glass masterpiece of their Lord Jesus hanging on the cross.

 

Just when he thought he was alone he hears a grunt before a dirty blond mop of hair pokes up a few rows ahead.

 

“Peter?” Killian exclaims as he gets to his feet, Bible once again slamming to the floor and this time he doesn’t care as he moves towards the pew where Peter Malcolm’s unreasonably tight blazer slips down his lap, the boy obviously having been using it as a blanket.

 

Upon further inspection the boy had been using some Bibles as a pillow and it takes Killian a bit of extra effort to not slap his own forehead. Instead he moves to sit beside Peter, the instinct to help over-riding his guilt. At least for the moment.

 

“Hey Rev,” Peter croons in a sleepy voice, looking at Killian for a moment before slumping back against him, using Killian’s lap as a pillow now instead of the Bibles. “Sorry ‘bout skipping class, wanted to talk to you but you were pretty damn into that whole ‘praying’ thing,” he’s quick to explain, nuzzling against Killian’s thigh and making a noise that wasn’t wholly pure.

 

He chooses to ignore it for now. “Would you like to explain now, Peter?” Killian bites, doing his best to keep their principal-student relationship intact; despite pouty, sinful lips parting dangerously close to places they shouldn’t be. He attempts to move away but arms childishly wrap around his waist and Peter grunts, so he stayed put.

 

_For now_ , he tells himself.

 

“I wanted to talk to you.” Peter repeats, getting up lazily while still pressing against Killian and arms still rooting the older man in place. “Ask you how it felt to finally touch yourself.”

 

Killian’s heart stops and he automatically moves to a standing position despite Peter’s protests, dragging the boy with him. “Watch your tongue, Peter!” he hadn’t meant to snap, especially not after Peter makes a slight flinch in his face. “That should never have happened and it would be best if we write it off as both of us having a… moment of weakness.”

 

Peter raises a brow. “Moment of weakness, huh?” he sounds unimpressed. “You’ll be having a lot of those with me around, aren’t you?”

 

Killian stutters, reddening in his ears. “No!” he finally blurts out. Peter advances and Killian backs away up until his back hits cold stone wall. “Peter, no.” he repeats in a pathetic whimper. This was a house of God. That wasn’t the only reason, but…

 

“C’mon Rev, you’re just teaching a poor boy what love is.” Peter’s voice dips dangerously as he gets onto his knees submissively, looking up at Killian through long gold lashes.

 

His knees go weak and a coil starts to tighten in the pit of his stomach. A knot of anxiety and … lust. He closes his eyes “Oh God,” he curses in a pathetic moan. His eyes snap back open when he feels spidery hands on the crotch of his pants, looking down at the quickly tenting black fabric stretching over a long-ignored organ.

 

“Yes, my child?” Peter replies cheekily, earning a look of ire and want from the Reverend. “Calm down your Reverence. This won’t take long.” He seems to giggle with the same cheekiness, those same spidery fingers working to undo his belt buckle and zipper.

 

All words left the Reverend, only mouthing his pleas. Whether they were affirmative or not… only God knew. His hands fly to his mouth when his want is eased from his pants and hot lips press kisses along the length. Peter uses his position to press Killian’s hips against the wall and engulfs Killian’s want into his mouth, down his throat.

 

It had been a good call, Killian straining against Peter’s hands in an effort to buck against him. Into him more. “Oh God,” he moans again, his head craning back to rest against the cool stone as he becomes pliant to a skilled tongue.

 

Just as the mischievous youth proclaimed, the act didn’t last long. It was mere sucks before the coil in Killian’s stomach sprung and his seed spilt forth to coat Peter’s mouth, their dirty act bearing fruit just like that despite Killian’s better judgment.

 

Peter pulls away and swallows, smacking his lips. “You need to eat more pineapple, Rev. Your spunk’s bitter.”

 

“Oh God,” Killian once more curses, this time from pure embarrassment. He hides his face in his hands and Peter has the decency to zip up his pants and buckle him up.

 

“Don’t be so embarrassed, Rev. Most guys have awful tasting spunk. I’d rank yours tastier than most, but could still use some more acidic fruits.”

 

Either Peter didn’t understand Killian’s distraught, or he was purposefully being vapid. Regardless it does nothing to help Killian feel better.

 

“See you ‘round, Reverend.” With a gentle pat to Killian’s crotch he turns on the heel of his foot and practically skips off, jacket lain forgotten on the ground in front of the pews. Once the heavy doors of the cathedral close the Reverend sinks down to his knees in a shivering mess.

 

“Why me?” Killian asks, his eyes flittering up towards the stained glass artwork of Jesus. “Why me?” he repeats a little louder. The portrait simply stares on and all Killian could do was sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> So not sorry for this one. May continue it later. ;)


End file.
